


Son of the Morning

by thelastshewolf



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 20:01:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelastshewolf/pseuds/thelastshewolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rhaegen Dayne is the only living child of Ser Arthur Dayne, the last Sword of the Morning. Raised at Starfall by his aunts and uncle, Rhaegen wants nothing more than to avenge his father's death and wield the pale sword known as Dawn. From Starfall to Oldtown, Braavos to King's Landing, Rhaegen becomes a man and, in the process, learns the many shifting faces that Honor wears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Son of the Morning

“There is a man on the road.”

 

There was no one to hear Rhaegen; he had climbed the narrow stairs to the topmost window of the Palestone, the highest tower of Starfall. He had promised his aunts and uncle that he would take care and never climb along the roofs or turrets; he took comfort in the fact that stairs were not a breach of his promise. His father would expect him to keep his word, as a good knight.

 

His father was, he hoped, the man setting pace on the broad road to Starfall. From here, Rhae could not pick out his father's features; he could not yet see the ashen blond hair or the broad shoulders, the posture of regal bearing that Arthur Dayne maintained even in the saddle. Hope is what spurred Rhaegen from his perch to hurtle down the stairs and into the keep. If it was his father, then Rhaegen planned to be ready.

 

He searched the interior of Starfall, rushing from room to room. The old keep was airy, with huge ceilings and arched entries; House Dayne had taken great care in the masonry of their ancestral seat. His aunts were meticulous in the appointments; lush Myrish carpets laid clean over swept stone and clean rushes, and despite the multitude of people in the castle Starfall had the clean sea air to sweep away the stagnance. He dashed around men at arms and swept down another staircase to blow through the kitchen; he found his aunt at last in the gardens.

 

“Aunt Ashara,” he gasped, taking her skirts in both hands. “There is a man on the road.”

 

Ashara Dayne knelt to regard her nephew earnestly, her slender hands closing over his. She was the most beautiful woman Rhae had ever known; her dark hair tumbled over her shoulders in careless waves, her eyes the same luminous shade of violet as his own. Aunt Ashara proclaimed that Rhaegen's were brighter, more like his father's and Rhaegen loved her for it. She had a basket over her arm to collect herbs, little purple flowers wound in her hair. Rhaegen could not love a mother any more than her.

 

“There is a man on the road,” he repeated, drawing himself up. “I think that perhaps it is Father.”

 

Ashara nodded, suppressing the faintest of smiles; she handed off the basket to hold out her hand. “Let's prepare to meet him, then. Come along, my little lord.”

 

***

 

So it was that when Arthur Dayne steered his chestnut courser to the gates of Starfall, he was met with a beloved sight; his sister Ashara, all in cream and violet and his son, Rhaegen, the only child he had ever made. Rhaegen was standing tall for his six years, a serious boy with a maturity beyond his age. His pale hair caught the morning light to warm the tones to gold, picking out the silver thread in his doublet and the crisp linen of his tunic. The love he bore his son seized in his heart, especially when he saw the tourney sword belted to his boy's hip; the very same piece of wood he'd had made in King's Landing and sent home. A boy should have a sword, he'd told Androw, even if only to practice.

 

 _What sort of knight would abandon his son_ , whispered something within Arthur's mind, and he shoved it away as he took a knee before Rhaegen. _You chose the honor of a knight over the honor of a father._

 

I've come to amend, Arthur meant to say. He looked down into the wide, bright eyes of his son, the boy who looked so much like him. He was a Dayne, through and through. He would foster and then squire, and then earn his spurs and Arthur would never be the one to grant him any of those honors. He would be away with the King, with Dawn in his hand and his white cloak swirling from his shoulders. He railed for and against his choice, as he had for all the short years of Rhaegen's life; leaving Starfall with Elinor still warm in her grave. Rhaegen, a pale-haired infant in his sister's arms, as Arthur mounted his courser to lead his destrier back to King's Landing. The long road out of Dorne beside his oldest and greatest friend, the namesake of his son. Looking back and reminding himself every time he looked at Rhaegar that he had chosen service to this man over his own blood. Such was the price of the honor of Arthur Dayne.

 

The Sword of the Morning took a knee before his son, and set a hand on his shoulder. “Rhaegen,” he murmured, a smile playing at the firm line of his mouth. “Would you like to come to a great tourney?”

 

The look on Rhaegen's face was all the answer Arthur would ever need.


End file.
